


Potions and a Police Inspector

by Luthienberen



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018 [22]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Magic-Users, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 16:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15490173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Gregson is summoned by urgent telegram to 221B Baker Street to find a very drunk Lestrade and two men who are variously amused, exasperated and concerned. Just what happened?





	Potions and a Police Inspector

**Author's Note:**

> Written for July writing prompts. Prompt No. 29 I Swear To Drunk I'm Not God. Get someone plastered in today’s work.
> 
> Connected to [“On a Razor Edge”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453840) where Inspector Gregson is a witch.

“I’m not drunk!” came the rather loud protest from upstairs.

Gregson paused at the bottom of the stairwell. He knew that voice.

“Inspector Lestrade?” he asked Mrs Hudson.

The housekeeper nodded, completely unfazed by the antics happening in her premises. Gregson was reminded again of how remarkable this lady was to endure Mr Holmes and Dr Watson’s odd comings and goings and even more peculiar visitors.

Apparently sloshed policemen were now on that list.

“I better go up then Mrs Hudson. Thank you for letting me in.”

“You are very welcome Inspector. I do hope you can assist Inspector Lestrade. Doctor Watson said you would know exactly is ailing the good Inspector.”

“He did?”

“Oh yes,” Mrs Hudson picked up her skirts as she began leading him up the stairs to the shared sitting room of her tenants.

“It is a beverage Doctor Watson and Mr Holmes are unfamiliar with – fancy that!”

Gregson developed a sneaking suspicion as to why his services were required. Gripping his bag full of incriminating evidence, he was grateful he had decided to come prepared “just in case”.

“Oh I am sure they are mistaken. However, I shall render what service I can.”

The sitting room door at this juncture was flung open and Sherlock Holmes stood framed in the entrance.

“Ah! Inspector Gregson! Just the man we want. Do come in. Mrs Hudson, we may require you shortly depending on the Inspector’s verdict.”

Once inside with the door firmly shut and locked Gregson faced a very confused Inspector Lestrade. The man was sprawled on the couch with a concerned Doctor Watson sitting beside him with his pocket watch in hand, his left fingers taking the Inspector’s pulse.

Lestrade was on the couch, eyes wide and pupils blown. A flush was in his cheeks and his lithe frame was racked by constant trembles. He moaned frequently and touched his forehead, clearly in pain.

“What on earth happened Mr Holmes?”

Kneeling beside the prone figure of his colleague, professional competition cast aside, Gregson leaned down to sniff Lestrade’s breath. The man blinked at him affronted and slurred once more, “I am _not_ drunk! Get out of my face.”

Hmmm…a familiar and rather worrying smell tainted his colleague’s breath. Ignoring Lestrade’s rude behaviour, Gregson turned to face both Dr Watson and Mr Holmes.

The latter was clearly exasperated and amused, though perhaps there was concern there too, concealed from all but his friend the doctor. After all, the telegram indicted some concern.

It was the doctor who replied, his eyes dark with fretting.

“Inspector Lestrade had called us to a doctor’s practise in Whitechapel. He thought that I would be able to offer some insight into the strange occurrence there this morning. In case I knew or had heard of the man,” expanded Doctor Watson seeing Gregson’s confusion.

Gregson noted the lack of name and address and realised that Doctor Watson was already redacting names to protect their prospective client.

“The doctor had vanished – poof!” sniffed Mr Holmes disdainfully. “He had eaten his breakfast as normal and entered the surgery room. Yet, upon his maid delivering his first patient she found the room empty. Now, the curious matter was that he could not have left without being seen as the maid was in the waiting room which faces the consulting room. The door to that was open.

“Furthermore, the boy who answers the door was in the corridor the entire time so he would have noticed the doctor departing. This suggests the man left by his window, yet why would he do so? Especially leaving no trace I can discern? The fireplace indicates some clue. Ah. I see you have an idea?”

“Perhaps, but it depends. What put Lestrade into such a state?”

“It is a peculiar drunkenness,” said Doctor Watson. “Lestrade was showing us the doctor’s consulting room when he found the bottle under the desk. He fished it out and before I could warn him, he wriggled the top out and sniffed!”

Gregson smacked Lestrade’s hand in exasperation. “You SMELLED a liquid you had no idea what it could be? What if it had been a corrosive acid you fool? Or worse?”

“Worse?” inquired Mr Holmes, “Then the situation isn’t too terrible?”

“No, and you were correct to call me. Do you have the bottle?”

“Yes, here.” The consulting detective carefully removed it from the security of his inner coat pocket.

Gregson examined the bottle and then with trepidation carried it to Mr Holmes chemistry table. Mr Holmes accompanied him while Doctor Watson remained with the now moaning Lestrade.

Setting the bottle down, Gregson opened his bag and removed his wand and a book on potions. Checking until he reached a certain section he exhaled in anxiety.

Eyeing the innocent bottle he prepared his nerves. Gently unstopping it, the golden liquid sloshing at the movement Gregson was cautious not to inhale the fumes. Instead he collected a few drops on a dish and waved the fumes towards him.

Ah.

Adding clear drops from a bottle he always kept on him, Gregson sighed.

“The potion isn’t dangerous. We use it to rapidly yet temporarily befuddle someone. The potion mimics a drunken state, but also causes the memory to become blurred – very useful if someone might witness the wrong thing.”

“So it must be used before anything happens and not afterwards, such as when we discovered your books?”

“Yes, there are limits Mr Holmes. The potion does not erase the memory, so its use is limited to trying to dampen someone’s reaction to something. It would be far more useful for example, if a witch would like to work some magic around a friend or associate – a spell to assist said friend or associate perhaps, or to stop something from happening – but needed them to not recall exactly what occurred.”

“So, the effects are temporary?” queried Doctor Watson from beside the couch.

“Yes, but the effects can be disturbing. In Lestrade’s case, he has reacted more violently to the potion, considering his shivering and complaints of a headache. I have a potion to counteract this one. Lestrade will not remember precisely what happened. I leave it to you gentleman to conjure an appropriate explanation in my absence.”

Mr Holmes grinned. “I shall think of something Inspector Gregson.”

Gregson felt a brief sympathy for his colleague. Goodness knows what Mr Holmes would say.

Deciding just to administer and depart Gregson poured a dram of a silvery potion down Lestrade’s throat.

The poor man coughed, turned pale blue then a pink blush sprang into his cheeks. His eyelids drooped and his shivering stopped. His painful moans subsided.

Relieved Gregson packed his belongings and checked Lestrade’s pulse.

“He will recover Doctor Watson. Please ensure he rests for an hour upon awakening before he recommences the investigation. Any assistance I can provide, please do call. Perhaps alone and in my house however.”

Doctor Watson smiled in understanding and gratefulness.

“Of course Gregson. We are glad for your assistance. I’m sure Holmes will include you when he has told _me_ more of his thoughts.”

The man in question sniffed at the teasing and Gregson managed to refrain from laughing until he was down the stairs.

Those two were impossible. Yet how was he to explain they not only knew his secret (and his uncle’s), but were now involving him in their supernatural investigations?


End file.
